Birth of the word is by agony molded,
Through earthly life it is quietly going,
It is a stranger, which drinks from the golden
Pitcher the drops of the savagesâ?? mourning. ...
I know: to the trees, but not to us,
Perfection of the life is given, whole.
And on the Earth â?? the sister of the stars â??
We live in exile, while they do at home. ...
In the days when the God eternal
Was declining face to the new world,
By the Word they stopped the sunâ??s inferno,
And destroyed the towns by the Word. ...
I thought to do a deed of chivalry,
An act of worth, which haply in her sight
Who was my mistress should recorded be
And of the nations. And, when thus the fight
Faltered and men once bold with faces white
Turned this and that way in excuse to flee,
I only stood, and by the foeman's might
Was overborne and mangled cruelly.
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